Journey Into the Bizarre

It was vividly real.  He was standing just a mere couple of feet away from me, sputtering his illogical rhetoric, pausing only long enough to take a breath. That's when I got a word in edge wise.

His pompous ego has never allowed him to accept any kind of advice from anyone, though in the past, he's always claimed to have the bestest and the bigliest people on hand to provide him with the greatest guidance.  Today, we all know this to be bullshit, as well.

This, however, was a dream.  I know it was a dream, because for one, I awoke from this bizarre scenario about ten minutes ago, but the situation that took place, as I've stated, seemed so vividly real.  A second clue would be how strange the event, if you can describe it as such, was.  It involved mowing a lawn.  Personally, I don't care to mow my lawn, but do so out of necessity.  I'm allergic to grass, so each endeavour is met with a lot of sneezing, wheezing and hacking.  In the dream, none of this was happening.  Third clue, was that the "Tangerine Tyrant", himself, was mowing his own lawn and mine, as well, as a courtesy.  Of what I know, common courtesy is not a trait that this individual possesses.  Nonetheless, there he was.  Wearing his trademark dark suit and overly long red tie, pushing a small lawn mower across a field of matted gold-coloured grass, leaving a swath barely touched behind him.  On this day, I met the acting "president" of the United States, Mr. Donald John Trump.

The lawn was thick and matted, gold in colour, rather than a lush green like most well-kept lawns are known to be.  It was a terrible mess, the underbrush pulling it close to the earth, not allowing the decrepit mechanical device that Trump was attempting to use, to cut it.  The trail of which his machine left behind, was barely noticeable, but the look of accomplishment on his face was second to none.

Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the billionaire began his legacy with a mere $14 million dollar loan from his father, Frederick Trump. (On a side note, I just learned this... Fred Trump's middle name was Christ.  How f*cking pompous is that?  Oh the ego that f*cker must have had.)  However, being spoiled and rich his whole life, I doubt Donald J. Trump has ever known an honest day's work in his entire life. Chalk that up as another hint that this was a bizarre dream concocted in my own head.

The lawn, as described, was golden yellow in colour.  It was thick and seemed to be growing back on itself.  It was reminiscent of Donald's hair.  Well coiffed, but wild in it's nature.  The mower that Trump was sweating over, was a standard manual push reel mower that was barely making a dent. His efforts rivaling the ineffectual nature of his presidency.  To my left, I had a newer gas mower, primed and running, but I could still overhear Trump's vexing exasperating grunts in the distance as he disappeared around a small building.  I took it upon myself to tackle the lawn with my modernized machine, successfully removing several inches of tangled lawn, in the process.

Hearing the roar of my gas-powered lawn mower as it cut a deep trench through the patch that he'd already "mowed", Mr. Trump came storming around the corner.  No one has seen him move with such urgency since he was going for a second piece of chocolate cake at his Mar-a-Lago resort in Florida.  Apparently the chocolaty treat is quite rich and delicious. (Much like Trump fancies himself.*)

The man was quite adamant, viciously attacking me, arguing that his method was the correct way to tackle the situation, despite the side-by-side comparison existing before us.  It was only when he paused to inhale, powering up for another relentless barrage of insults to fling at me, that I was able to explain that the RPMs on the gas mower, far exceeded that of the manual reel mower that he was struggling with.

I explained to the huffing and puffing Donald Trump how Revolutions Per Minute working in conjunction with mowing a lawn.  Wiping the white spittle that had formed in the corner of his mouth, Trump paused to learn a lesson in basic physics, learning that the over 3000-plus rpm's of my machine far exceeded the maybe 800 to 1000 rpm's that he was fighting to get out of his dulled archaic gadget.

As the realization warmed over his face, the mad man began to smile, as if he'd just discovered the wheel.  Now he was boasting to a small crowd that was forming, how he'd discovered this new futuristic implement that can be used to mow one's lawn.

Yeah.  That sounds like a real Trump-ism. Take credit for shit that already exists.  On that note, Trump flung his old reel mower, like a three year old having a tantrum, and walked off, leaving me alone in a field of yellowed grass.  Thank goodness, this is when I woke up, because as I said in the third paragraph, I hate mowing the lawn.  Even if it's in a dream.

.

*Trump fancies himself to be like his favourite pastries. Rich and delicious.
Why else would he turn himself into a human-sized marshmallow? 😆

The Turtle

A car speeds down a deserted highway in the twilight hours of the night. The lone occupant, his grasp tightly fixed on the wheel, attentively scans the distance illuminated by his headlamps for trouble. There's nothing out there. Nothing for miles. Just as he passes through a valley, the expanse shrouded by overgrowth, his attention is distracted by flashing lights in his rear view mirror.

Begrudgingly, the man slows to a stop on the shoulder.  He knows that he's guilty, but prays for leniency.  Despite being the sole occupant of the road that night, the officer issues him a ticket anyway.

Mumbo Jumbo

Went out with a friend today.  The day started out nice, visiting one of the new Halloween stores in town.  My feet have been hurting a lot, as of late, with the cooler weather, but the warm temperatures today proved worthwhile for this outing.

We trekked around looking at this and that, before moving on to our next destination where we did some grocery shopping.  Her for her household, me for mine.  Then we had a quick lunch right there.

In an effort to eat up as much time before going to pick up her boyfriend from work, we visited a couple more destinations, looking for Halloween stuff that she could incorporate into a costume.  She's very creative and sometimes likes to bounce ideas off of me.  I don't mind as I like the creative aspect without any of the follow-up of having to do the work.  It's like taking pride in the finished product without having any of the headaches or callouses of putting the piece together.

As well as I was feeling in the beginning of our adventure, the time on my feet was beginning to take it's toll on me.  I eventually found myself limping a little, as my feet began to swell.  My midsection was beginning to hurt some, as I'd had surgery a couple of weeks ago and I'm still having some issues with that healing process.  Most annoyingly, I began to get a headache.

I tend to get a lot of headaches, come autumn, and they only grow more frequent and intense as the winter months engulf us.  This particular headache I could feel mustering behind my eyeball.  These ones tend to get real bad, real quick.  But I didn't want to say anything, because my friend was having a good time and I didn't wish to spoil her outing.  I never mentioned anything until we began our journey homeward.

"I would offer you something, if I had anything." she said, to which I told her it was okay.  I explained that I had the same Ibuprofen that she had in her trunk, a purchase she'd made earlier in the day.  "I'll simply take four or five of them, when I get home.... With a shot of bourbon!"

She was shocked, immediately warning me off of such a terrible action, citing that booze and medication should never be mixed.  "Bah!" I said, "That's just nonsense."

She went on to tell me that I should never mix alcohol with medication, to which I gave her my explanation and to tell the truth, while I was just blowing smoke out my ass, the logic is present and I think I may actually believe my own hype...

"That's just big pharmaceutical who warns against mixing medication with alcohol.  You never see alcohol companies warning 'Don't drink this with pain meds'."   I paused for a moment, thinking about the words that just spilled from my mouth and yeah...  No alcohol companies say that.  So I have to believe that it's like the marijuana thing, where the booze companies launched negative campaigns to render cannabis as an illicit "drug", so too are big pharmaceutical companies making similar claims against alcohol, exemplifying that it can't fix any of the problems that medication can. (Which makes a person curious as to why they speak against the positives of marijuana.)

"Besides," I added, "The alcohol just gives it that extra -- Ba-BAAMM!!  The Ibuprofen works fine, but the bourbon acts as a turbo boost!  Thrusts it into your system so much quicker."

Big pharmaceutical claims that medication should not be mixed with alcohol, but they make the same claim that shit should be taken with food and despite not following those instructions, I've never been affected negatively in that way, either.  It's a lot of hooey.  Verbal mumbo jumbo meant to put fear into people so they have to rely more heavily on their meds.  Unless you're a raging alcoholic, then I say there's no harm in pouring yourself a nice stiff drink to chase down the pain meds.  It'll fix whatever ails you.

CHEERS!!

Spiders Are Dicks!!

Spiders are dicks!  At least the ones around my house are.

Spiders in and around my house place their little (and not so little) webs in the most irritating places, in an effort (obviously) to catch and devour insects.  I notice their webs in the nooks and crannies throughout my abode.  In the corner, between the wall, floor and counter.  There seems to be a monstrosity that repeatedly appears by my front door, almost daily, that seems to catch nothing but dirt and lint carried in from the outdoors.  There's a terribly large formidable one in the backyard that, to be quite honest, I'm a little afraid to approach.  The one thing that they all seem to have in common is: No insects!

I don't know if these spiders are catching insects and eating them before I notice anything or if they're just too stupid to actually catch anything.  They must be doing the former as some of these spiders grow to disgustingly large sizes, which then becomes a real problem for me.  I have arachnophobia!

I used to be deathly... And I do mean deathly afraid of spiders.  I'd see a spider and I'd almost shutdown physically.  I'd be like...  I don't want to say that I was "like a chick", because most women that I know, would always mock me as they strode by me to "rescue" me from the terrifying spider-monster.  Suffice it to say, I was a true wimp, when it came to dealing with spiders.  My fears, however, were well founded, though.

A few years ago, while living in a basement suite on the east side of Saskatoon, I fell "victim" to a spider bite.  A couple times, to be exact.  One time a spider bit me on my shin and the skin in that region, literally dissolved away.  It was several months of applying ointments and changing bandages before the flesh in that area finally healed.  Then it happened a second time, but on my big toe.  That bite had more lasting effects, of which I continue to experience to this day.  The flesh grew back, after much speculation by doctors and specialists on whether or not to amputate the appendage.  However, my foot has been numb ever since.  It's been over ten years since I've felt my left foot.

Needless to say, with the exception of the Spider-Man movies, I'm not real stoked on spiders.  On the plus side, my deathly fear of them has subsided enough to where I can throw down extreme vengeance on them.  I see a spider and I can grab a paper towel and go in for the kill.  I see a web I don't want, I grab a lighter.  (FYI - Be very careful, as some of these motherf*ckers can go off like a Roman candle.)

For the most part, though..; Spiders are dicks!!  What prompts this belief, besides the fact that sometimes my shoe will fall off my left foot and because of the lack of feeling, I won't notice this.  Thankfully, it only happens around the house (and only once at the Costco -- Only noticed because I inadvertently kicked it ahead of me. *True story.)

In addition to the spider epidemic in my household, I have trouble with ants.  This year, they've not been the problem that they've been in recent years.  Not indoors, anyway.  However, outside, next to the door leading into my garage, there are swarms of them.  They've dug through the concrete and burrowed through the wall.  There are droves and droves of them inside and out.  Roaming freely among all the spider webs inside the garage.  I've bore witness to this.  Spiders sitting there watching the ants make a mockery out of them and all the while I'm thinking, "What the f*ck are you doing?"

Ants are insects.  Why the f*ck aren't the spiders doing anything to catch these little bastards?  Not meaty enough?  Maybe not one or two, but they could literally catch a thousand of these little f*ckwads, and have a buffet for all their little spider friends and family.  But no.  They just wanna sit there like dicks!!

I've poisoned the ants.  I've done this a couple of times in the last month and a half.  I would send the bill for the ant poison to the spiders, if I thought they would pay, but alas...  Spiders are dicks!

Road Kill 2

Last week I posted a blog about my new job and how absolutely satisfying it is.  A week later, I still feel as positive and gleeful as I ever did.  The positives are fantastic and I've never been happier.  The negatives are still quite heart wrenching.

Job-wise, nothing is bad or disappointing, but I continue to see dead lifeless carcasses lying by the roadside.  The norm for anyone who travels the highway a lot and I dread the thought that one day, I may become as jaded by the sight as many of these people have become.

Last week's blog I remarked on the menagerie of different animals I'd seen who had lost the head on battle with a speeding motorist, the worst being a dog that had managed to drag itself off the road and into the ditch, where it had died, leaving it's companion alone and crying next to it's lifeless body.  Though I was speeding by at 100km/h, the moment seemed to pass in slow motion.  I could almost hear my heart tearing apart at the sight.

Every day since, when I pass that stretch of highway, I glance into the ditch at the approximated sight of this depressing event, and pay an emotional homage to the pet and it's faithful companion.  However, in the days that have passed, I've seen some other victims of the road, including a young cat that I passed by early this morning.  It didn't look very big.  Just a young cat, probably still a kitten in many ways, lying lifeless on the side of the road, only a couple hundred feet from the tiny little house with the windows glowing from within.  For a second, I wondered if the inhabitants of the house have noticed that their cat never made it home the night before.  I never let my cat outside without being attached to a leash or tether.  Thinking of him being hit by a passing car, would devastate me and I doubt I could survive such heartbreak.

The saddest thing was a fox and two young kits, dead in the middle of the highway, just south of Melfort, SK.  I thought, for a second, that they'd died together trying to cross the highway last night.  I thought that at least they died together, that the kits wouldn't suffer in the wild as orphans.  The more I imagined what had happened, the more horrified I became.  "What if," I speculated, "The mother had been hit, but the kits had survived, but like the faithful black lab from the canine duo last week, the kits lied by their mother's dead body, ultimately being hit by an automobile in the process?"

I know that witnessing dead wildlife at the roadside is something that will not subside.  It's something that I will continue to bear witness to for however long I do this job.  I pray that I won't become calloused to it and stop noticing how heinous the deaths are, but I don't wish to become overwhelmed with grief as much as I have been in recent weeks.

I pay my respects to the fallen victims as I drive past them, acknowledging their existence.  Then by the time I arrive home, my cat, Monkey, is always at the door with hugs and kisses for daddy.  These experiences have made me appreciate him all the more.

I had to end this blog on a positive note... 😏

Road Kill

Since being laid off from my job at the Case-New Holland manufacturing plant, three years ago, this month, I've been struggling to find gainful employment.  Over the three years, I've bounced from one menial job to another, never really finding anything that I loved.  I really liked and was even proud when I worked for the city, last summer, but alas, when summer ended, so did the job and any prospects of being hired on a permanent basis, died with the turning of the leaves.

After that, I had a couple more terrible jobs, one working nights replenishing shelves at a local grocer, for minimum wage and only three shifts per week.  The other was full time hours for not much more money, but it was quite unfulfilling.  Pride in my work there, never ever entered the picture.  So when I lost that job, while it was a shock, it was sort of a blessing.  It was an alignment of the stars and the planets.  It was almost as if every bit of shitty bad luck I'd had in the previous three years, was all for helping me secure the new job that I have now.

Initially, when I got let go from the hotel gig, I'd hoped to get a day job, so as to avoid being away at night, but this job has me starting in the wee early mornings.  3am, to be exact, but it doesn't really matter, as my day usually ends in the late morning so I still have the rest of the day to spend with my "boy" (Monkey) or attend movie matinees or go to doctor appointments.  Whatever I want to do, I can and will.

My job is described as a "Line Driver".  Essentially, I work for a new courier company and I run parcels and packages up to the delivery personnel in three distinctive markets.  Prince Albert, Melfort and Humboldt, Saskatchewan.  Each day, I depart at 3am and drive a route that reaches about four hundred and fifty-plus kilometers.  That's about 280 miles for my American readers.  The early morning affords me the luxury of little or no traffic on the highways.  I work alone so I can crank up the tunes and sing as loud as I want.  Or as of Thursday, I (finally) figured out how to download podcasts to my phone and I've listened to podcasts for the last two days.

I really really love this job and my enthusiasm about it seems to have impressed my boss, too, so unless I do something really (REALLY) stupid, I don't see (fingers crossed) ever losing this job.  However, as much as I love it, it does have a drawback.  It's not the hours, nor is it the fact that I'm away from my "boy" for several hours.  It's not even the constant driving.  As I said, I love the job and except for being away from Monkey, everything is fine.  It's just the road kill that I see laying at the roadside every day.

Living where I did growing up, I was used to seeing the odd skunk or badger or (tons) of gophers bite the big one on our highways.  Even travels you'd see the odd deer.  Years ago, I even managed to accidentally hit an owl on the highway as it swooped to grab a recently deceased carcass, just as my vehicle intersected the same point on the highway.  There was a tremendous crushing sound and the little car that I was driving, bounced a couple times.  I was horrified, but continued on my way.  With no other choice, that is what I do nowadays when I drive past the menagerie of different animals sprawled out at the side of the highway, their lives long disappeared from their bodies.

I never realized that there were raccoons in Saskatchewan until last week when I saw six lifeless raccoons along my route.  I've also seen baby deer and I can't help but imagine the sorrow that the mother must be feeling when their young offspring is lost so tragically.  I've also seen a beaver and a couple foxes.  The saddest thing I'd seen, up until today, was a cat that had been hit trying to cross the road.

I only started this job, officially, last Tuesday.  Wednesday, went fine, but Thursday, I hit a poor bird that flew in front of the van I was driving.  If the van hadn't had an antenna, I'm convinced that it would've escaped, unscathed, but because there was an antenna, it was caught and it's neck was snapped.  I know this because it was stuck on the van, forcing me to stop to remove it.  I was beside myself, with grief.  I pulled it off the van and I'm not ashamed to admit that I was borderline in tears.  I've never been an hunter.  I don't enjoy fishing.  And, as much as I enjoy the taste of steak and bacon and meat, in general, I don't ever want to see how it goes from a living entity to my plate.  So seeing this lifeless bird and knowing that I had a hand in it's demise, I was devastated.  I pulled the bird off the van repeatedly saying how sorry I was.  I knelt over it for a moment, admiring it's beauty and the vibrant colours of it's feathers, but mortified that I'd killed it.  After a few minutes of silence, looking at the small bird, I continued on my way.  I was thankful, in part... No.  I was completely thankful that the bird had died instantly.  I don't know what I would've been prepared to do had it been alive.  The next day, however, it happened again.

The next morning, I was driving the big cube van when I hit a duck just south of Prince Albert.  Again, if I would've had the van I'd used the day before, I'm convinced the duck would've made it, however, I had the cube van whose box extended over the cab by, at least, two feet.  This duck looked panicked as I hit it.  I say panicked, because our eyes met just as it hit the windshield.  There was a heavy thud and the roof of the van shook as it bounced over the cab and against the cube.  I never stopped for that one, but saw it in the mirror, bouncing along the road.  I never saw a carcass in the days that followed and have speculated that perhaps it had lived.  That relief was short-lived as I then pictured it with a broken leg, causing it to not being able to swim.  Or a broken wing, which meant no flying south for the winter or escaping predators.

This is the kind of shit that plagues my mind.

The other morning it was quite foggy.  In the misty air, I passed three deer and a moose.  I tried to honk my horn as I passed them, in hopes of scaring them away from the highway that was growing more busy as the sun began to rise in the east.

Three paragraphs ago, I wrote that the saddest thing up until today, was a cat that had been clipped crossing the highway.  The number one saddest thing I've seen now and it'll be hard pressed to find anything more sad and depressing than this.  I saw in the ditch this morning two dogs.  One black and one white and shaggy.  It appeared that the white shaggy dog had been hit and managed to pull itself to safety in the ditch, where it had died, leaving it's companion, the black dog to sit quietly at it's side.  I was speeding past when I noticed the duo, but time seemed to slow right down, feeling like several minutes as I passed by.  I can't get that image out of my mind.  I can't imagine the sorrow that animal must be experiencing having lost it's best friend.

All the sadness that I witness along the highways, makes me all the more thankful to return home, where my cat, Monkey, meets me at the door, greeting me with kitty hugs and kisses.  I say I can't imagine the sorrow that these animals must endure when they lose their mate or offspring, but perhaps I can.  If I lost Monkey, it would destroy me.  Even now, knowing that he will live another ten years or more, I'm horrified to know that one day I'll come home from work and I won't be met at the door with kitty hugs and kisses.  This is a fact of life and it depresses me.

Crazy Nights

"Ma'am.  You can't stay here.  You've pissed yourself."

The hotel where I'm currently employed is sketchy at best.  A majority of it's guests are aboriginal folks flown in from satellite communities for medical purposes, their hotel bills, taxis* and meals are paid for by Health Canada, so they haven't any financial burdens at all.  They're even awarded a per diem, in some cases, so not one shiny nickel is shed.  Unfortunately, the hotel is drab and uninspiring, stuck in the middle of nowhere, so being cooped up in their rooms can be distressing and boring, to say the least.  I can understand why some may be tempted to liven things up with some extracurricular activity, but the end results can have a real negative impact on those around them.

[*Taxi rides to and from medical appointments and procedures are paid for by Health Canada.]

The hotel has many issues attached to it, but when I arrived to work last night and noticed two Saskatoon Police vehicles parked under the canopy by the front doors, I knew something was not good.  A part of my job as a night custodian is also security, a job that was not discussed in my initial interview.  I was relieved, though, that the evening fella was still there and whatever was afoot, was his responsibility, not mine.  I, honestly, don't know how I would've handled the lunacy of what was taking place.

Apparently, the crazy guy in question, had taken something earlier in the evening that caused him to hallucinate and believe that people were attempting to break into his hotel room to kill him.  According to what I would later learn, he barricaded himself in his room and called 9-1-1, but when the police arrived to his "rescue", he didn't want to deal with them and suddenly the boys in blue were "working with the (invisible) evil men in red" in trying to trick him to come out of the room to meet with his demise.  It's all f*cking crazy.  The whole time I was thinking how my tax dollars are contributing to this guys crazy.

Thankfully, the guy was carted off by police and he became someone else's burden, so he quickly became the subject of scandalous fodder added to the long line of other crazies to grace the halls of the shit-hole hotel.  The three of us employees left to look over the hotel as the evening transitioned into night and eventually the dawn's early light, thought that was the end of the craziness.  Apparently not.

About two thirty in the morning, my compadre came to me telling of a girl passed out on the sidewalk covered in her own urine.  "Here we go again." I thought to myself.  Allegedly, she'd been picked up by a hotel guest and brought back for some sexy time, but before anything could happen, she peed all over the guy's bed.  I laughed.

The police were already on scene by the time I got to the lobby, where the young woman had been moved to one of the sofas.  The police stood idly by, allowing her to slumber while they awaited the paramedics to arrive.  Once there, the woman was quickly attended to.  Her responses belligerent and indignant.  She was quite adamant in her wish to remain where she was and resistant to leave with the medical professionals.

"Ma'am," one police officer said loudly, "You can't stay here!  You've pissed yourself."

Yep!  She'd pissed all over the place.  Up in the room, out on the front stoop and now on the sofa, leaving a sizable puddle as they escorted her out the door.  I sure love my job...

I checked the calendar in hopes of some kind of cosmic explanation for the strange occurrences of the night, but it's not a full moon.  There's no logical (or illogical) reason for the crazies.

Nothing else happened the rest of the night and (fingers crossed) nothing else will happen the rest of the week.  I'm not real secure with security side of my job role and honestly can't be bothered.  I hate this job for so many reasons other than just the crazy drunk drugged out lunatics that stumble through the hallways.  I gotta find another job before my head explodes.

A huge thanks to the Saskatoon Police Service for their exceptional professionalism in dealing with the insanity that plagued our shitty hotel last night and this morning.  I'm sure glad you folks are on our side.

#PraiseThePositive

I love my house.  I've lived in this house since 2008, May will mark my ninth year of residing here.  I've done very little to the house in that time.  A little bit of paint, here and there, and a couple of new appliances.  Very little else has been done.  If I had the cash to do so, the fence surrounding the property is in dire need of replacement.  As for the interior, I'd love the opportunity to update some of the features, as well.  Maybe some hardwood running throughout the lower areas.  Perhaps refresh the paint and upgrade the washrooms.

The one thing I've noticed about my lovely home over the last couple of years is how much my home resembles the characteristics of a thermos.  In the summertime, when the temperatures outside are sweltering, my house can retain the coolness that the central air is able to provide.  As for the wintertime, when the mercury dips well below -20C and -30C, the interior manages to match that negative pretty accurately.  I'm not waking up to frostbitten extremities, so I may be exaggerating slightly, but god damn, I am, legitimately, cold almost all the damned time.

Recent financial strife and difficulties is making it quite apparent that affording to continue living in my beautiful home is becoming more and more difficult.  Being laid off from a lucrative job back in 2014 has been increasingly harder and harder to survive.  My bank accounts have been depleted almost completely.  Every retirement savings plan has been emptied and spent just trying to survive.  If I can't find gainful employment that pays above minimum wage, I fear that living in my house isn't going to continue for much longer, let alone surviving long enough to make any needed improvements on the home.

I have my fingers crossed that shit will work out.  I have to stay positive.  I hope 2017 proves to be much more positive than the last three years have been.  #PraiseThePositive